


bring me to you

by alexanger



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 07:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11778300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanger/pseuds/alexanger
Summary: the rest of my life can't compare to this nightand only the heartaches have given me sightthey bring me to youthey bring me to you.





	bring me to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pensiveVisionary (hamburr)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamburr/gifts).



When they pass they give each other the slightest of nods. For the sake of appearances they maintain the illusion of a tenuous friendship, the kind that might be broken at any moment, either by Burr’s standoffishness or by Hamilton’s perpetually running mouth.

“Burr,” says Hamilton on occasion, when they pass close enough to exchange soft words.

“Hamilton,” Burr returns, with just enough chill in his voice to keep up the pretense that his attentions are focused elsewhere.

The guns roar and the horses scream and the two of them cling together in the shadows where no one can see. There are horrors upon horrors but together, in the privacy they find in tents and in trees, there is softness.

“We must pretend not to feel anything,” says Burr, and he’s right - if anyone were to find out, they’d start looking closer, and if nothing else they need to avoid scrutiny. Burr knows what would happen if anyone were to find out -

Burr has  _ secrets.  _ There are secrets, the kind that may be whispered in the dead of night, and then there are  _ secrets, _ the kind that you never acknowledge or speak of. The first time Hamilton undressed him, he said, “ah, I understand,” and left it at that. The mysteries of Burr’s body remain just that. Neither of them discuss it. There isn’t any need.

But while Hamilton can simply say, “ah,” and button his lip (somehow - and it remains a mystery even to him how he remains so silent about it), there are others who might talk.

“Dishonourable discharge if we’re caught together,” says Hamilton one night in the almost-light of their dying candle, which sputters and smokes near the entrance of the tent they’ve commandeered. 

“Not for you. They’d discharge me and destroy my career,” says Burr. “But you’d be just fine. All they’d see is a tomcat and a -”

He can’t finish the sentence. There’s a bitter tang in his voice.

“You and I have different definitions of the word ‘fine,’ then,” says Hamilton.

“That may be so. Still, we must pretend not to feel anything,” says Burr. “They cannot know about us.”

The screams of the horses provide a less than pleasant background to their stolen moments together, but at least there  _ are  _ moments. Neither can imagine a world without the other.

It always starts the same way. Hamilton straddles Burr, grinding his hips back and down although there isn’t much to grind against, just a stocking Burr rolls up and tucks into place. Still, Hamilton knows he likes the feeling of having someone submit. He wonders, always, what it would be like to feel himself hardening against Hamilton, to press his way inside of him, to rock and thrust until that hollow feeling in his bones compresses down to a single point of light, buried deep inside of this beautiful man -

He doesn’t let Hamilton fuck him. He doesn’t want anything inside of him. Instead, he lets Hamilton undress him reverently and kiss him all over. Hamilton kisses his jugular notch, the spot that always makes Burr shudder in anticipation of what’s to come. The kisses lay thick on his collar bone, across his chest, over his nipples - and Burr doesn't let Hamilton linger too long there - and down his stomach until Hamilton is nestled between his legs and grinning up at him. Burr loves that grin. It’s terrible - far too self assured, far too cocky, filled with much more delight than is really necessary. It’s the way Hamilton grins when he’s about to pamper Burr.

“You’re so hard,” he always says, and Burr always mewls a little in - what? Embarrassment? Delight? Something somewhere between the two. It makes him feel like his skin is his, hearing those words.

“Yes,” he always replies. “Hamilton, stop  _ stalling.” _

__ And that’s when Hamilton lowers his head and takes Burr into his mouth. He sucks the little nub like it’s something far longer, something bigger. He teases it with his tongue, the sensitive spot on the top where it meets the hood, the little crease on the bottom, the oversensitive tip. Burr can never take direct contact for long, so every so often he gasps, “a moment - a moment -” and Hamilton will gently lick along the sides instead, never quite touching. 

Hamilton never rushes him and for this Burr is grateful. He’s so hurried in everything else - he never seems to just take a moment to slow down and think - so to be slow and gentle in these moments must be a tremendous effort. Burr feels his heart swell with love as Hamilton glances up and they make eye contact. There’s the barest hint of a smile on Hamilton’s face and his eyes are full of rapture. It’s so intense that Burr has to look away.

“Suck me,” he murmurs, and Hamilton obliges, wrapping his lips around the part of Burr’s body that, in this moment, seems the most important. His hands are tangled in Hamilton’s hair and his legs are tensing and shaking but none of that seems like it belongs to him. Parts of his body are very far away; all that matters are his clit and his brain and the two of them are narrowing together, everything in his body focusing down to the sensation of Hamilton’s mouth on him.

When Burr comes, he has to come quietly. There’s no room for any sound. He huffs and shudders apart, shaking against Hamilton, who knows by now to back off and just gently lick Burr through his orgasm. He plays Burr’s body like an instrument - he knows the sweet spots to touch, to caress, to kiss, to lick, and the places to avoid. He knows Burr more intimately than any man ever has - or ever will, he thinks in the dark, stuffy air of the tent. He always thinks this, and that’s how he knows it’s the truth.

Neither of them say  _ I love you _ but it’s fine. They both know the words and how they sound and the way they roll off of their tongues, so there’s no need. All they need is these perfect moments, the ones they steal and hoard like precious gems, like bullets, like water.

 

* * *

 

And then, all of a sudden, the moments are gone. The war ends and the horses stop screaming - though they’ll always scream in Burr’s mind, he thinks, when all is quiet at night and he lays in his bed musing on the horrors of the war - and Hamilton and he part ways, a little reluctantly, although both of them knew it was inevitable. They write letters every now and then but their correspondence isn’t as regular as Burr would hope.

So imagine his surprise when when he finds an office out of which to practice law and finds Hamilton working next door. Old habits die hard - rather than the shout of joy he wants to give, he offers a small nod and a slightly chilly, “Hamilton.”

Hamilton, on the other hand, displays no such reservations. He pulls Burr into a tight embrace - he always was far too expressive for his own good - and says, “Burr, my dear man, it’s so good to see you! I can’t believe we’ve lost touch - where has my mind been - we have so much to tell each other. At least, I’ve lots to tell  _ you. _ I assume you’ve a thousand things to tell me. Where are you keeping yourself?”

“It’s been a matter of months, Hamilton, not years,” says Burr flatly.

“I’ve a son now,” says Hamilton, ignoring Burr’s snark.

“I thought he would have been born by now. What’s his name?”

“Philip,” says Hamilton. “Come into my office - I’ve a drawing of him. He’s perfect. An angel.”

Burr follows Hamilton into his office. The moment the door is shut and the two of them are alone, Hamilton grabs Burr by the cravat and kisses him soundly.

“Hamilton,” Burr murmurs against his lips, not entirely angrily, “what the devil are you doing?”

“Why, are you - oh! Forgive me, I shouldn’t have assumed -” Hamilton breaks away and puts his hands behind his back, rocking a little on his heels. “I just thought -”

“Of course you  _ thought,” _ says Burr.

“But you mean to tell me that did nothing for you, then?”

Burr is silent as he examines the sensations in his body. “It -” he begins, and then he stops.  _ It did not  _ refuses to roll off his tongue. Instead, he says, “are we alone? You know, completely?”

“There is no one in this office but you and I,” Hamilton says. “I swear it.”

“Then - yes, I’ve missed our - our closeness - but this must end, Hamilton, we aren’t soldiers anymore. You’re married and I’ve, well, if not a wife, then at the very least a fiancee, which you very well know. And a daughter.”

“You  _ dog,”  _ Hamilton grins. Then he pauses and adds, “then she must know -”

“Yes,” says Burr, far too fast. “Her too.”

Hamilton nods. “Then - us -  would you rather not -”

Burr aches for it. “I shouldn’t,” he says.

“No one can know?” Hamilton offers. Their old mantra.

And Burr smiles at him. “They cannot know about us,” he agrees. But instead of turning to leave he steps forward and kisses Hamilton again.

There’s a long moment where nothing matters. Hamilton’s breathing is ragged and Burr knows he’s making soft noises - he can’t hear them, but he can feel his throat thrumming. There’s just the two of them for an eternity, joined at the lips, all wandering hands and half-shut eyes.

“If we do this,” says Burr, “we must pretend not to feel anything.”

“They’ll know when I look at you,” says Hamilton.

“Then we’ll be enemies, and no one will know a thing.”

Hamilton laughs in delight. “Enemies it is, Mr. Burr, sir,” he says. “No one will know about us.”

And Burr kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him, and for just a moment, the horses stop screaming.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos get burr laid. chat to me at [alexangery.tumblr.com](http://alexangery.tumblr.com)


End file.
